The Struggle Within
by Girloftheproblematique
Summary: **AU from Ep1.21 onwards: In "Salvation" the trap is obviously set for John… what if the Y.E.D had been a little bit more cunning? Winchester angst and whumpage to come- Limp!Sam, Hurt!Protective!Dean with extra Papa Winchester** HIATUS
1. Prologue

**Title: **The Struggle Within

**Summary: **In "Salvation" it's obvious that the trap is for John… what if those pesky demons and the Y.E.D had been a little bit more cunning? Winchester whumpage and angst on the way 'cause it's awesome! Limp!Sam, Hurt!Protective!Dean and added Papa Winchester. Strong **T **rating for the moment, for strong language and graphic violence but that may change… after all that Azazel is one mean SOB!

**Timeframe: **AU from episode 1.21 onwards.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them… _fudge_. Title inspired by the song of the same name on Metallica's 1991 'Black' album.

**Author's Note: **I've written some fanfic before, but never a SPN fic so this is an adventure into unknown territory for me :D But I love the show soooooo much and have been inspired by so many great authors on this site so thought I'd give it a go and see what happens. So this is my first (multi-chap) fic… well hopefully as long as the prologue gets a good reception '_crosses fingers'. _No beta so all mistakes are mine. John centric intro... but it's necessary to kick-start the plot. Please review and let me know if I should continue! –Darkmoonshine90

**Prologue**

"_If you must hold yourself up to your children as an object lesson, hold yourself up as a warning and not as an example_." – George Bernard Shaw

11:50PM.

It was always the waiting that got to him.

Waiting for the next attack in 'Nam, waiting for a chicken-pox ridden Dean to fall asleep, waiting for his second child to be born, waiting for a colicky and motherless Sammy to stop crying... waiting for a poltergeist to emerge from a seven-year-old girl's closet, waiting for a spirit to appear on a deserted highway, waiting for a demon to show up at a warehouse in Lincoln, Nebraska. But it was the same feeling of insignificance; simply waiting for events to come to pass before he could act in any way. Each second felt like an eternity, the silence of the Nebraskan night punctuated only his breathing.

John glanced at the battered watch on his right wrist, a Father's Day gift from a time when monsters lurking in the shadows were banished by a child's laughter or a mother's smile. 11:51 PM. He had arrived at approximately twenty minutes before Meg-or rather the demon possessing her-'s deadline, carefully preparing everything necessary for his escape plan. He had blessed the water supply stoically, his white-knuckle grip on the rosary given to him by the now deceased Pastor Jim Murphy in complete contrast to his smooth recital of the rite.

Waiting meant his mind was free to drift into dark contemplation, threatening to break the concentration required for hunting. John exhaled forcefully, his thoughts turning to his sons, a state away and potentially in more danger than the Winchesters had seen in over 22 years. The Demon- _Azazel_, as he had recently discovered- had taken his wife; it had just taken Jim Murphy, one of his only confidants, and Caleb, one of his staunchest allies.

It could still take his sons.

And John would be left with nothing to tether him to this life except a soul consumed by revenge and self-hatred that could never be healed. His boys were the reason he kept on fighting and didn't spend his days in an alcohol-induced haze.

Mary's death had broken John. Losing one of his sons would destroy him.

John glanced at his watch again impatiently - 11:52 – the fingers of his left hand twitching as John stood agitatedly. John exhaled heavily, trying to focus on "Meg" and her possible intentions before sighing and digging into his jacket. Opening his wallet, John tugged a small Polaroid out from behind John Osborne's drivers' license. Artificial light from a flickering security light fell upon two young faces; Sam and Dean at nine and thirteen respectively, sitting on the hood of the Impala, arms slung around each others' shoulders. Sam's face was pale, and John remembered that Sammy had spent most of the summer in a hospital in Minnesota after having to get his appendix removed and the consequential peritonitis that had crushed his baby boy's strength. Dean's stance was protective, holding Sammy close; and John recalled that Dean had barely left his ailing brother's side throughout Sam's treatment. John had given Sam into Dean's care that fateful night 23 years ago and had never truly relieved Dean of the responsibility since.

John's thoughts turned to his eldest son. Dean had been his second-in-command rather than a son throughout what little was left of the ashes of Dean's childhood. Whilst Sam questioned and rebelled, Dean was a steady source of pride and comfort. However, now John could see cracks in the facade Dean had created to disguise his fear and grief from the world. _"Sam called you when I was dying!" _He could see the hurt in Dean's eyes, John wanted to say that he had been there in Nebraska, had been in Lawrence too; but he knew that would only cause the betrayal in Dean's eyes to deepen. He was only trying to protect them from the danger that stalked their family but John was now starting to recognise the true costs of his crusade.

Funny how Sam had spent most of his teenage years yelling such things at him; and yet only now was the fact that he had sacrificed and hurt his boys in a different way penetrating John's hardened heart.

And funnier still, how after two decades of standing in front of them as a shield at the cost of their childhoods, John had effectively now thrown Sam and Dean to the proverbial lion.

Especially Sammy.

Sam was different in many ways to his older brother, self-assured in a different way to Dean, but modest and compassionate at the same time. Sammy was Mary's son, and sometimes John could not even look at Sam without feeling the knife of grief embedded in his heart. In the midst of their most intense arguments, John would register Sam tilting his head a certain way through the haze of fury, and his anger would be replaced by weariness and guilt. What would Mary have made of their intelligent and empathetic son? He could envision standing at Sam's graduation from law school, full of pride for his son who had a prosperous future ahead of him with Mary crying happily by his side and Dean smiling proudly. And Sam would come down to them, with a beautiful blonde clinging to his arm and John would embrace his son and tell him-

_"If you walk out that door, you stay gone! You hear me Sam? Don't come back!"_

All of that had burned away on a cold November night over two decades years ago, and the ashes destroyed completely one year ago on yet another November night.

John Winchester had woken up on the morning of November 2nd 1983 to his four-year-old son bouncing eagerly on his parents' bed as his wife looked on fondly, cradling their youngest son in her arms. John Winchester had woken up on the morning on November 3rd 1983 as a widower with a silent, traumatised four-year-old son and a crying, motherless, baby to care for.

He had found his way into hunting in the following months and years, driven by grief to find Mary's killer... but as his research deepened, John wanted answers about why Mary was killed for entirely different reasons. The discovery of the fixation the supernatural seemed to have with his youngest son; the cryptic "truths" whispered mockingly between shrieks of pain from demons wearing human meat suits- _"Sammy's always been special hasn't he?" _and his own observations had lead John to unsettling with the revelation that Sam was having _visions_, John was drowning in guilt, fear and despair. John fingers itched for a cigarette, even though he'd kicked the habit before Dean was born at Mary's insistence, or a bottle of Jack to lose himself in for a few hours as he'd done in the first empty weeks after Mary's death.

John glanced at his wrist again, 11:59PM. '_Showtime_,' John thought sombrely, his senses alert and seeking even the slightest disturbance. He raised the fingers of his left hand and pressed a brief kiss to the band on his ring finger before pushing all thoughts of his family to the deepest recesses of his mind. He stepped forward, away from the flickering security light and into the depths of the building. He entered a central room; hunting instincts guiding his steps. The room cloaked in darkness apart from the spears of light cast between the barred window frames across the floor. Typical demon decor.

John paused, lingering a few metres from the doorway, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Suddenly, the hair on the back of his neck prickled, an unknown fear seizing hold of his heart with icy fingers. John instantly stood at perfect attention, eyes scanning the warehouse floor and ears listening intently for the slightest sound. He reached for the fake Colt revolver, expecting "Meg" to appear in the-

_Buzz..._

The cell phone vibrated innocuously in John's jacket pocket.

John shifted uneasily, knowing that it could be his boys to tell him that it was all over but his instincts were suggesting otherwise. John's fingers were trembling as he slid the phone out of his pocket, before pressing the 'Answer' key and lifting the phone to his ear.

And one second later, his life fell apart for a second time.

"You've really messed up this time John."

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**Author's Note: **Oops, what have I done? Please review!!!! Reviews feed the stressed-out-by-Uni-coursework muse :D


	2. Chapter 1

**Title: **The Struggle Within

**Summary: **See Prologue. Some strong language, minor limpage and far too much angst.

**Disclaimer: **Still not mine. If there were, they'd cry and hug a lot more :)

**Author's Note:** Thanks to everyone who has added this story to their alerts, and particularly to those who took the time to review. I've tried to thank you all personally but due to RL events I didn't get a chance to reply to the last couple of reviewers so thank_ you_ especially. It's been a while I know; RL's been a bit of a bumpy ride lately and then my end of year Uni exams completely destroyed my muse :S But now Uni's over until Sept, and thanks to the economic downturn I'm summer-job less... so lots of time for sleeping and fic writing :D

But here is Chapter 1, at last, and thanks again for the amazing response to the prologue. I hope it's worth the wait. All mistakes are mine as I don't have a beta. If you can cope with long, long sentences and lots of ellipsis then PM me :) Reviews are like super-vitamins for the muse and thanks again for reading! Love, Darkmoonstar90 x

**Chapter 1**

"_Where do I take this pain of mine?_

_I run, but it stays right by my side..."_

-_Until It Sleeps_, Metallica

**Then...**

_John's fingers were trembling as he slid the phone out of his pocket, before pressing the 'Answer' key and lifting the phone to his ear._

_And one second later, his life fell apart for a second time._

_"You've really messed up this time John."_

**-Now-**

"You've really messed up this time John." For a moment, John could have sworn he stopped breathing as invisible hands seized his heart with icy fingers of fear and dread. Meg, or more accurately, the demon possessing the body of Meg Masters, cackled malevolently. "Nothing to say John boy?" she asked callously.

"Where are my boys?" John asked apprehensively, trying to regain some semblance of his usual stoic Marine calm.

"Ask nicely Johnny and maybe I'll tell you," Meg replied primly, but John could easily picture her smug smirk.

"Where are my boys you demonic bitch?" John shot back, his anger catching and beginning to burn bright.

"Ouch, that hurt," she replied in mock outrage. "But congratulations on figuring it out- your boys didn't until it was too late." Meg left a pause for dramatic effect and John could feel the familiar sensation of adrenaline beginning to surge through his veins. "Your boys; Dean and Sammy... You do realise that hiding two lambs in the lion's den doesn't make them any safer Johnny?"

"Christo."

Meg hissed, "You bastard. Sammy's gonna pay for that."

"What have you done with them?" John snarled at the cell phone, as each individual frantic beat of his heart was punctuated with _Dean. Sam. Dean. Sam._ The analytical side of John's mind kicked in to hide his growing panic, "Why didn't you turn up? I thought this was all an elaborate trap for me after all."

"Don't flatter yourself," Meg said curtly. "It wasn't a trap for you Johnny... it was a trap for your boys. The boys you're _never_ going to see again by the way. Dean's already burned up like a spare rib and little Sammy's about to become everything you've seen in your deepest, darkest nightmares."

John had begun to suspect as much, but hearing it voiced out loud was still like a punch to the face. He had spent the last year, the last twenty-three years really, trying to protect his boys by pushing them away... but he had merely ended up pushing them right into the demons' hands.

"Dean's dead, you know he died screaming for his father to save him? But you never came; too obsessed to care about your soldier boy and now the Big Bad Wolf's got Mary's baby. You try so hard to keep them safe and yet the bad guys get them anyway, isn't life a bitch John boy?"

"I'm going to hunt you down and send you straight back to Hell," John shouted fiercely, his anger surging free from the unshakable control he had perfected in 'Nam.

"Watch your blood pressure Johnny," Meg chided with a cloying sweetness. John heard a hushed giggle from Meg's as he swore colourfully under his breath. "Maybe you should have told Sammy what you know; about Sam and the other children like him. Maybe you should have told Dean that you were proud of him once in a while... too late now of course."

"Dean's not dead," John replied stubbornly. _No, he can't be dead, _John told himself and clung to that thought like a security had pulled through the impossible before, and something in John's mind told him that his oldest was still breathing.

Meg snorted, "You keep telling yourself that. But how's Sam going to feel when _my_ father tells him that you've been lying to him all this time and how big brother's death _and _Mommy's death was his fault? As well as sweet, pretty Jessica of course."

"Azazel is your father?" John questioned incredulously, ignoring the verbal barb about his relationship with Sam and the knowledge he had kept hidden from his sons.

"First name terms? I'm impressed Johnny, but as riveting as this conversation has been, I've got places to be and all that. Can't let poor Sammy get lonely now that Dean's gone after all. I'll make sure I tell him how much his Daddy hates him though."

"You bitch," John snarled but his cell beeped as the line was disconnected and John was left standing in the empty warehouse with only his righteous anger for company. "Fuck," John swore viciously and flung his cell to the ground. He heard a faint crack as the screen fractured before turning and punching the nearest wall, welcoming the pain that blossomed across his knuckles. He stood breathing harshly, clenching his fists, struggling to quieten the little voice that whispered that Dean was dead, and that Sam would be better off dead.

John slid to the floor, holding his head in his hands as the little voice grew louder.

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John was barely able to keep the truck on the road as he hurtled through the darkness back towards Iowa, and then Salvation itself, feeling his growing panic tightening around his throat like an elastic band as he crossed the state line. His knuckles throbbed faintly underneath the hastily wrapped bandage and the cracked cell phone screen flickered erratically in the darkness of the cab.

After another hour and a half of flooring the gas, he re-entered Salvation. The journey within the city was a blur of streetlamps and deserted streets, as John sought out the house Sam had seen in his vision earlier that day. He turned off at each junction purely on auto-pilot, trying to picture the route Dean had drawn earlier that afternoon whilst Sam had slept off the after-effects of his vision. John's white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel was the only outward sign of the emotional turmoil churning in his stomach.

As he turned onto the end of the street where the young family lived, John could see the familiar flickering red lights. John cut the truck's engine, parking partly on the sidewalk and partly on someone's driveway but John didn't care. He rummaged for an appropriate form of identification before exiting the truck and jogging down to where a small group stood in front of the still-smouldering building.

John was instantly transported back twenty years; he could feel the numerous stares from their neighbours as he clutched his boys in his arms and he could taste the rancid stench of smoke on his lips. He could feel the cold steel of the Impala's hood under his thighs, the weight of baby Sam in his arms and Dean's grip as he clung wordlessly to John's arm. He could feel the drying tears on his cheeks as the life he had known smouldered before his eyes and the shock that was slowly blanketing every thought and emotion.

John blinked and the house in Lawrence was replaced with the burnt-out ruins of another family's home. Thinning smoke still hovered over the home like a dark cloud, but the fire had been extinguished by now which explained the small number of people remaining and the lack of curious neighbours. John reached the small group of three men, all police officers, spotting a couple of fire officers closer to the house. He produced a police badge from his jacket pocket as he stepped forward, "Detective Burton. I've been sent over by the state police." He flashed the police badge briefly and hoping the assembled group didn't want a closer look or further identification.

Fortunately the other men seemed too dazed by the events that had occurred to care much for strict protocol, or more importantly to ask why John's presence was required at 4AM, and introduced themselves in turn. One officer seemed to be older than the others, with thinning dark hair, an intense stare and a no-nonsense manner that John recognised as ex-military, whilst the other two were younger, maybe about the same age as Dean.

"Our key witnesses are either traumatised or unconscious so we honestly have little idea of what happened earlier," one of the younger men, Detective Martinez, began. "Apparently there was some form of break-in, according to the woman involved. Two young men then also broke in and tried to save the family, she was very adamant about that, but she broke down in tears before she could tell us much more. In many ways, I'm not sure I even want to know what happened," the young detective admitted.

"Yeah it just doesn't make sense," the older man with the receding hairline, Detective Inspector Marley, added. "Fifteen years on the job and I've never seen anything like this. As you can obviously tell, the house was actually on fire just after 0000 hours. The family escaped, including the baby, but one man was found trapped inside by the fire service. He was identified by the victims as one of the men who tried to rescue the family. "

"Two men entered, but only one was found inside?" John questioned urgently, there was no doubt that the two men were Sam and Dean...

"Yeah, we're looking into a possible hostage situation as well as why the family were targeted in the first place," the other young Detective, Smith, replied.

"If it wasn't for Mrs Stout across the street spying on what she thought was a little domestic spat, I doubt the guy would have been found in time. She was the one who called the emergency services in. Fortunately the hospital's close by too, the paramedics seemed pretty anxious." Detective Inspector Martinez ended solemnly, turning back to survey the blown out windows and blackened walls.

"I'm going to head over there, see if I can get any further information," John bluffed, trying to make a smooth exit when all he wanted to do was to sprint to the hospital. He was certain the man rescued from the fire was Dean, left to die by the demons but Dean had defied the odds, just as he had done throughout his life. Sam was most likely taken by Azazel as Meg had said, but John tried to force himself to focus on Dean- Sam's fate was out of his hands for now. John clung to a vestige of hope that two decades of hunting hadn't annihilated as he drove to the hospital, fervently clinging to the thought that Dean was still alive.

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John had staggered into the hospital reception area, his features haggard and new stress lines deepening around his eyes. After ascertaining that Dean was indeed a patient there, John took on the role of anxious father and was rewarded with paperwork and the promise of being able to see his son. John completed the tedious task of filling in the fictional details of Dean McGullicuddy and his doting father on a small forest's worth of forms before being sent to the family waiting room.

John had sat down in the deserted waiting room with a blood-splattered teenage girl who was staring at the floor tiles like they held all the answers in the universe. Just over half an hour and four cups of dishwater quality coffee to fight down his growing need for sleep later, a nurse finally came to take John to Dean's room. Dean's condition had apparently stabilised, although the nurse had warned him not to be intimidated by the numerous machines in Dean's room.

John was just grateful to see with his own eyes that his son alive.

John and the nurse- Emma, according to her name tag- entered the room but John halted in the doorway. Dean was lying on his back, arms and hands crossed upon his chest, the position unnatural and stiff. Normally Dean tended to sprawl over the entire mattress, and his current position was too much like that of a corpse for John's sanity. As he inched closer to the bed, he could see that Dean's cheeks had an unnaturally rosy hue, due to the carbon monoxide he had inhaled, and John could still see faint smudges of soot at his hairline. An IV had been inserted into the back of each bandaged hand, and an oxygen mask was fastened above his mouth. Numerous bruises were beginning to blossom on his skin, and some pretty angry slashes also marked the tan surface. Those were definitely not from the fire itself, but John had known that to get to Sam, the demons would have had to have taken down Dean first. The sterile silence was only broken by the even rhythm of the heart monitor.

Emma had reassured him that the oxygen mask was only temporary to ease the pressure on Dean's lungs but her soft words did little to soothe John's anxiousness. Emma noted down the readings from the monitors on her chart and gave John a reassuring smile before leaving father and son alone.

The near-silence was overpowering, Dean had always been the soundtrack to life on the road. Even during the years that Sam had been away at Stanford, Dean had filled the chain of desolate motel rooms with chatter about his latest conquests, even when John really _did not_ want to know the details of his son's "social" life. And for the past week, something had felt right in John's heart for the first time in five years as Dean and Sam had exchanged brotherly insults and the occasional pillow.

_Sammy..._

A small part of John had expected to find Sam at Dean's bedside, with a fully prepared tirade and his patented "_my Dad is a jerk"_ bitchface and the accompanying glare that he had inherited from Mary. Sammy would have made one heck of a lawyer- he'd had plenty of practice arguing with John after all. But the chair next to Dean's bed was empty and John knew with a sickening clarity that Meg hadn't been lying. If not for the nosy neighbour, Dean would have died. And Sam was now at the mercy of the Demon that had killed Mary.

John collapsed into the chair next to Dean's bed, unconsciously reaching out to hold his oldest son's hand. It was reassuringly warm under his calloused fingers, and it was this physical reassurance that Dean was alive that was the final blow to John's composure.

"I'm going to get him back Dean," John murmured, rare tears falling down his weathered features. "I promise. I'll get him back."

And John Winchester; Corporal, hunter, father, slumped back into the plastic chair and cried.

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With rain cascading from the bruised sky, John Winchester stood in the smoking area outside the hospital. His lips twitched briefly at the appropriate weather, it suited the atmosphere of death and desolation perfectly. A few other people stood under the overhang, distraught relatives and despairing patients alike, exhaled cigarette smoke rising up into the humid air like spectres as the puddles grew deeper and wider. John raised the cigarette that another relative had handed to him wordlessly when he had come out through the door to his lips and took a long drag.

He needed to swallow his pride for once; for his boys' sake if nothing else. John somehow fished his now cracked cell phone out of his jacket pocket with his left hand. John scrolled through the small list of contacts on his cell, before coming to rest on the one with a South Dakota area code. His thumb hovered over the 'call' key but he could not bring himself to press it. John sighed in frustration, dropping the cigarette to the ground and stubbing it out before running his now free hand over his face.

"Come on Winchester," John muttered under his breath. Asking for help had come easily enough in the Marines but after Mary, he had stubbornly refused all offers of assistance for himself or for his boys. After Bill Harvelle's death, John had kept his boys away from the hunting network, telling himself that he was protecting them but now he wondered if he just didn't want anyone else to tell him what he was doing wrong, not as a hunter; but as a father. He had formed a small circle of associates- not _friends_ as such- but his crusade had pushed the majority of them away.

Dean was unconscious and suffering minor burns, smoke inhalation and various other injuries. And Sammy... his baby boy could be dead, or _worse_. And with those thoughts acting like a stiff shot of whisky, John finally pressed the button.

"Bobby? It's John Winchester... I need your help... it's... it's my boys."

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**Author's Note: **Good? Bad? Awful? Review and let me know. Believe it or not this is not a John-centric fic, it's just turned out that way so far. As a Sam! and bi-Winchester!girl, I'm horrified by the lack of Sam and Dean but that will be remedied next chapter. Thanks again for reading, please review and hopefully Chap2 should be up with less of a delay! -DMS xXx


	3. Chapter 2

**Title: **The Struggle Within

**Summary: **See Prologue. Limpage. Some bad language. Flashbacks. Tri-Winchester angst... you know, all the fun stuff!

**Disclaimer: **Still don't own them… _sigh_. I own nothing apart from the spelling errors and grammar mutilations.

**Author's Note: **Thanks again for the amazing reviews *_hugs_*; I've been so overwhelmed by the support this fic has received and the number of people who have added it to their alerts (although to be a nag, please review if possible instead of just adding the fic, thanks! It sounds a bit tetchy I know, but feedback feeds the muse!).

But to those who were kind enough to review- thanks again for the lovely comments, they really do make my day! Sorry about the lack of reply to said reviews, won't let me log in on the family desktop- hence the extended delay on this update as well as my laptop was away getting upgraded. However my laptop is now back, replies have just been sent, and here is Chapter 2- which does actually feature our favourite brothers. Reviews are like giant tubs of cookie dough ice-cream! Love DarkmoonStar90 x X x

**Chapter 2**

"_We don't receive wisdom; we must discover it for ourselves after a journey that no one can take us on or spare us._" – Marcel Proust

**Then...**

_Dean was unconscious and suffering minor burns, smoke inhalation and various other injuries. And Sammy... his baby boy could be dead, or worse. And with those thoughts acting like a stiff shot of whisky, John finally pressed the button._

_"Bobby? It's John Winchester... I need your help... it's... it's my boys."_

**-Now-**

Sam Winchester shivered back into consciousness. His head felt like it had the morning after his brother had taken him to _that_ bar in New Mexico and challenged him to tequila shots. He remembered little of what had happened that night, but the resulting hangover from hell would be burned into senses for the rest of his life. "Dean?" Sam mumbled almost incoherently, preparing to go back to sleep for another five minutes, or hopefully, another five _hours_.

Nothing. No pillow thrown at his face in a veiled show of brotherly affection. No offers of dubious hangover cures. No big brother. No Dean.

Sam forced himself to open his eyes, and spent the next few seconds blinking to try to get rid of the grey blotches swimming in his hazy vision. "Dean?" Sam called, waiting for the blurry motel room to come into focus and his big brother to appear. Although the incessant throbbing in his skull was similar to a tequila hangover, the lingering foul taste in his mouth was not alcohol however; it had the unmistakable coppery tang of blood.

Sam turned his head to the side, instantly regretting it as nausea flared up in protest of the sharp movement. The fog blanketing his thoughts began to dissipate as Sam fully registered that Dean definitely was not there and his 'hangover' was definitely not a hangover. _Concussion?_ Sam wondered, swallowing convulsively as his stomach continued to churn ominously.

But if he was hurt, then his overprotective sibling should be here: tucking blankets around him, whilst mocking Sam's non-existent alcohol tolerance in a classic example of contradictory Dean behaviour. Even the fiercest mama bear had nothing on Dean Winchester when it came to his baby brother. Sam instinctively knew that Dean had not willingly left him alone; just as he knew the sky was blue and one plus one equalled two.

_Clink-clink._

Sam started, causing another _clink-clink_ as adrenaline flooded though his veins. He automatically glanced down, and his stomach clenched as his blue-green eyes spotted the metal chains glinting maliciously in the dim light. The chains were very long, so much so that the surplus lengths were curled up on either side of him before the ends vanished out of Sam's line of sight. Sam swore viciously under his breath as he tried to examine his bindings with his still blurred vision.

Manacles had been fastened around his wrists with the help of a soldering iron, making escape impossible unless Sam could somehow manage to detach his hands temporarily. The long lengths of chain then connected them to pipes on the wall Sam was sprawled against. He was essentially still free to move around his 'cell', for a short distance at least, which probably had something to do with the porcelain bowl that sat innocuously next to a box full of dolls.

Sam could easily guess what _its_ purpose was. _And it just keeps getting better and better._

However, the fact remained that he was still trapped, no matter how far he could walk before the chains yanked him back like an unruly spaniel. Turning away from his scrutiny of the pipes, Sam glanced around the room itself and knew instantly that he wasn't in a motel room. It was dimly lit; a fact that Sam's still throbbing head was sincerely grateful for; with only a few narrow beams of natural light falling across the concrete floor. The fragile rays were eventually swallowed by the shadows prowling the dusty corners of the room, leaving most of the room shrouded in darkness. Sam could faintly make out whitewashed walls that were partially hidden behind endless stacks of sagging cardboard boxes, their contents spilling carelessly across the cold concrete floor.

_Basement_, Sam thought to himself, sluggishly recalling another similar room that had been part of Jess' parents' house. Unlike his current surroundings, it had been meticulously organised by Mrs Moore who had ensured that every item had its own particular resting place- right down to the smallest unloved teddy bear in the 'soft toy' storage box. Dozens of coloured plastic coffins; each carefully placed in a graveyard of childhood memories.

To Sam; who had grown up with most of his worldly possessions in one duffle bag, it was just another thing that separated the Winchesters from every other family in the country. Possessions had to serve a purpose, and if it was broken or outgrown, it was left in a motel wastebasket without a backward glance, not stored in a room for sentimental reasons.

In fact, Sam was pretty sure that John Winchester had erased the word 'sentimental' from his vocabulary twenty-three years ago.

Sam frowned, hadn't John been with them recently? He tried to recall the past day but his mind remained stubbornly blank. _Focus Sam,_ he mentally chastised himself, shifting restlessly against the wall he was leaning against causing another chorus of _clink-clink_s from the chains.

He was trapped in a basement- chained to the pipes to be precise- complete with a suspiciously pristine exercise bike, no doubt bought for a fitness kick that had ended days later in front of the television with a takeout. It seemed demons really did have a sense of humour after all. Sam had run all the way to California to try and realise his dream of a normal life four years ago; and had spent the last year trying to run away from it. And now Sam Winchester, former pre-law at Stanford University, was chained in a basement- symbol of suburban American family life- after being kidnapped by demons. Karma really was a bitch.

But how had he ended up here in the first place?

_Think Winchester,_ Sam ordered himself mentally, but the heavy fog that had initially smothered his senses still blanketed his memory. Sam looked around the basement once again, his blue-green eyes lingering on a cot that was sitting on the opposite side of the room.

An image of another cot flashed in his mind's eye, acting as a trigger for his memory. Sam slumped back against the wall as the memories came flooding back, the chains hissing and coiling around him.

-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-

_Sam was following his brother further into the shadows of the house. Something was bothering him though, causing Sam to stop briefly. Throughout the time the brothers had spent in the car waiting for the demon to show, Sam had felt as if they were being watched. And now inside the house itself, something just felt _wrong_ for lack of a better word. Sam shook it off as nerves, clutching the antique Colt revolver tighter before following his brother._

_Photographs were dotted along the narrow entrance-way, frozen smiles and anonymous faces staring at the brothers as they passed. Dean caught his eye briefly, and Sam understood instantaneously, automatically moving towards the stairs. Years of hunting together when they were younger meant that verbal communication was not necessary, and it had saved their lives on more than one occasion._

_Sam moved in front of Dean, the cold apathetic metal of the Colt revolver draining the body heat from his right hand. He knew that as he had the demon-killing gun, it meant he would go up the stairs first, no matter what Dean's objections were. And Dean did indeed look as if he was sucking on a lemon as Sam moved out of arm's reach of his older brother. Sam's right foot settled on the first step; he heard an almost inaudible wooden groan as his weight settled upon it. Stealthily, just as their father had taught them, Sam rushed up the stairs, closely followed by Dean. _

_The feeling of _wrong_ increased exponentially as Sam reached the top of the stairs. His back tingled as something invisible slithered over his skin, and his heartbeat was pounding in his ears. Sam gagged briefly as his stomach churned, reflecting his emotional turmoil. Dean nudged him, silent questions written in his brother's green eyes, _Are you okay? What's wrong?

_Sam shook his head minutely, _I'm fine. It's nothing. _He nodded towards the furthest door, decorated with a small pink plaque, and Dean smiled grimly before checking his gun. The Winchesters approached the door, and by now it felt like there was a stampede of elephants roaring through Sam's brain as his heart throbbed anxiously. The silent night weighed heavily upon them both as Dean's hand rested briefly on his brother's shoulder- a small gesture but it was of great comfort to them both. Then the moment was gone as they took their respective positions. Dean stepped forward as Sam settled against the wall, taking point. Dean pushed the open door gently and it swung open with little noise._

_Sam darted into the nursery, spotting Rosie's cot in the corner of the room, bathed in red light from a nearby night lamp. The image seemed off somehow, and Sam gasped as he looked closer at the cot and realised it was empty. The silence blanketing the house was smothering now, as Sam sensed Dean stepping into the room behind him. Sam spun around to push his broth-_

_The door slammed violently behind the brothers, the sudden noise like a thunderclap, before they were flung across the room by an unseen force and pinned to the wall next to the empty crib._

_A figure stepped forward from the shadows of the room, "Howdy boys."_

_And Sam knew they were screwed._

-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-

Dean Winchester returned to consciousness with a groan as he registered the familiar acerbic smell. After ending up there more times than Dean wanted to recall, the harsh clinical odour of a hospital was as much imprinted in Dean Winchester's mind as the smell of a good cheeseburger. Unfortunately the hospital's signature scent had less pleasant connotations, and Dean would swear that it was like inhaling hydrochloric acid due to the super-charged anti-bacterial agents drifting around in the air. Sam had once told him that to smell something you actually inhaled small particles of it, and Dean could imagine miniature armies of antiseptic particles waging war against any unfortunate burger particles in his nasal passages.

Dean frowned at the image his mind had created. Okay... _way_ too much time spent with geekboy or else the doctor had gone overboard with the happy juice.

"Sammy?" Dean mumbled, expecting to feel the usual comforting squeeze from one of Sasquatch's giant paws and the quiet reassurances that came with it.

Nothing. No open displays of brotherly affection through endless repeats of "Are you okay Dean? No, are you _really_ sure you're okay?" that veered the narrow path between concern and chick-flick territory. No little brother. No Sammy.

"Sam?" Dean coughed, frowning at the strange constriction within his throat and the foul acrid taste in his mouth. Surely Sammy would be handing him a cup of water any second now... surely?

Nothing.

Dean opened his eyes, instantly closing them again as the harsh artificial lights stabbed into his eyes likes knives. But he forced them open again, as fear vanquished the last of the drug-induced haze lingering in his mind. He was in a private room, with various machines keeping vigil around his hospital bed. An oxygen mask was lying next to his pillow, but Dean's short-term memories were blurry and jumbled and trying to think back merely caused his head to throb in protest. Dean turned his head slightly, making a face as the unpleasant taste in his mouth once again made itself known, and spotted a solitary chair next to the bed. A familiar jacket had been left in a crumpled heap in the chair. _Dad? _Dean wondered, _but where's Sammy?_

Dean's thoughts went unanswered as a nurse entered the room with a clipboard. "Mr McGullicuddy, it's nice to see you awake." Dean smiled ruefully- _that is so the last time you choose the insurance names Sam_- as she left to go and get his doctor. He could not even bring himself to check out the rear view as his gaze fell upon his father's jacket once more, and his sense of foreboding grew.

-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-

After a barrage of medical tests, Dean had been left alone with the oxygen mask and strict orders not to remove it. From his catalogue of injuries: smoke inhalation, mild burns, Dean had deduced that he had been in a fire of some sorts- his nurse had alluded to as much before refusing to answer any more of his questions. And boy did he have plenty of those, including one about strange slashes that angrily marred his smooth tanned skin: fire didn't usually tend to scratch its victims to death after all.

Taking top spot though was _where's Sammy?_ Asking the medical staff about his brother had merely earned him confused looks and a small change of medication. The pulsing headache had only worsened since his examination but Dean was awaiting his father's return in order to get answers. Pressing his cheek against the cool pillow, Dean gritted his teeth and tried to push past the block on his memories.

Dean spent an indeterminate amount of time in a strange haze of pain and painlessness, humming _Fade To Black_ under his breath before he sensed someone standing over him. "Dad," Dean murmured, his voice muffled by the oxygen mask strapped over his face.

"Dean," John acknowledged. "You're awake."

_Stating the obvious Dad, _Dean thought to himself but did not vocalise it. He opened his eyes and blinked blearily at his father. John seemed to have aged dramatically since Dean had seen him last, with new stress lines furrowing his forehead and his hair and greying beard unkempt and wild. His wrinkled clothes bore the definite appearance of being slept in and he kept rubbing his wedding ring- a nervous gesture that Dean had picked up on as a small child.

"Where's Sammy?" Dean questioned, straight to the point, very much like his wayward sibling.

"I...I wanted to be here when you woke up," John began, his tone strangely detached, it was as if he was reading from the telephone directory rather than talking to his son, "but I went to get the Impala before the cops decided to look in the trunk." John's shoulders were hunched together as he stared at the apparently very interesting floor. The atmosphere was awkward and uncomfortable, punctuated only by the rhythmic beating of the medical monitors.

Normally Dean would have taken comfort from news of his car's well-being, but his brother's well-being always had, and always would be, ranked higher. "Are you deaf Dad?" Dean exclaimed angrily, shoving the oxygen mask aside, _"Where is Sam?"_

"I. I... I don't know," John admitted, his tone desolate. John had been Dean's personal superhero when he was growing up, but now the facade was beginning to crack under years of strain. Dean was beginning to see now what his childish devotion had blinded him to; he was beginning to see what Sam had seen all along.

"What do you mean you don't know? He's your _son_!" Dean's fury was building, his blood pressure and oxygen monitors beeped in warning but they were ignored by both men.

John rested his head in his hands, and with his next words, Dean Winchester's world came crashing down around him. "The demon has him."

And just like someone had flicked a switch in his brain, Dean remembered everything. God, he remembered _everything._

-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-

**Author's Note: **This chapter was initially going to include _"everything"_ but it was far, far too long (well over 5000 words going on for 6000) and I didn't want to start chopping everything up. So next chapter will have the reveal, Dean vs John round two and some chained Sammy for kicks. Then the plot will start moving forward in Chapter 4- or that is the plan on my lovely OneNote notebook entitled "STRUGGLE PLAN" anyway lol.

So what do you think? Of course the boys discovered John's lock-up, complete with _sentimental _objects in Season 3, which makes the whole thing even more ironic. Poor John, he's really a big softy at heart but his boys don't know that sadly. Reviews are love! DMS x X x


	4. Chapter 3

**Title: **The Struggle Within

**Summary: **See Prologue. Limpage. Some bad language. Flashbacks. Tri-Winchester angst. Overload of sarcastic wit. Chained!Sam... all the fun stuff.

**Disclaimer: **Still don't own anything except for the crazy plot. No beta so all mistakes are mine.

**Author's Note: **Thanks again to those who took the time to review- you guys seriously rock! And to those who have added this story to their alerts. If you enjoy this extra-long chapter then please show some love by clicking that little blue button at the bottom of the page :D Love DarkmoonStar90 x X x

**Chapter 3**

**Then...**

_John rested his head in his hands, and with his next words, Dean Winchester's world came crashing down around him. "The demon has him."_

_And just like someone had flicked a switch in his brain, Dean remembered everything. God, he remembered _everything_._

**-Now-**

_Dean had had barely a split-second to notice that his brother had spun around with horror-filled eyes before they were both flung across the room like unwanted toys by an irate toddler. Dean hissed through his teeth as pain throbbed along his spine from the powerful impact with the wall, moving to ease his discomfort before he realised that he was being pinned to the wall by an invisible force. _Son of a-

"_Howdy boys."_

_And with those words, and the familiar figure that stepped forward from the shadows, Dean knew they were screwed. He managed to turn his head fractionally, catching his brother's eye, and he knew that Sam felt exactly the same way. _

_Meg Masters stepped forward with an eerie grace, similar to that of a tiger stalking its prey. Her eyes glinted malevolently from the opposite side of the room as shadows curled around her like close friends. "Expecting someone else? I'm offended, after all we had so much _fun_ the last time we were together- you boys really do know how to show a girl a good time."_

_But if Meg was here, then who or _what_ was waiting for John at the warehouse in Lincoln? _Dad...

"_You're no girl," Sam muttered, and Dean could visualise the patented Sam Winchester glare that accompanied those words without even having to see his brother's face._

"_I'd really take that to heart Sammy... if I had one. But it seems that all that college education wasn't a complete waste of time after all." Meg grinned maliciously before her pupils turned completely black. _Possessed-by-a-demon_ black. _

"_You're a demon?" Dean exclaimed incredulously but everything was settling into place: Meg Masters _was_ a real bonafide _girl_ despite her apparent invincibility... after all how many _people_ could still make blackmailing phone calls after taking a tumble out of a seventh-story window? _

_The demon smirked, "In the flesh... or rather sweet little Megan's flesh to be precise. Quite frankly I'm surprised you didn't figure it out sooner, but we've learnt that you have certain gaps in your knowledge thanks to Daddy dearest."_

_Dean didn't know what to make of that statement: undoubtedly their father wasn't exactly the caring-sharing type but if it could be used to save lives, John Winchester made damn sure his boys knew it. However he didn't have a chance to ponder the implications of Meg- or rather, the hell spawn possessing her-'s words for more than a few seconds before she stalked past them. The demon stood in the doorway of the nursery, cast another sickly sweet smile back at Dean and Sam before calling down the corridor, "Bring in our other guests, boys." _

Other guests? _Dean wondered, automatically trying to move between his brother and the new potential threats. His efforts however were in vain, his muscle tendons screeched in protest as the demonic force continued to pin him to the wall._

_Two possessed men walked into the nursery, their ebony pupils glinting sadistically at Dean and Sam as they dragged a man and a woman into the room. An invisible knife twisted in Dean's gut when he noticed that the woman was carrying a baby in her arms. He heard Sam's sharp intake of breath, "Monica," just as Dean realised exactly _who_ they were. He had temporarily forgotten about the family they had come here to save with the revelation that "_Meg_" had played the Winchesters like puppets, but now the full weight of how badly they had screwed up was a crushing weight on Dean's shoulders. The two men carelessly shoved the family to their knees in front of Meg before forcing them to look at her. _

"_We've been having fun haven't we?" Meg smirked, her tone cloyingly sweet. Monica did not respond to the demon's words, continuing to clutch her baby with trembling arms and her husband was less mobile than a statue, completely petrified. Even the baby was unnaturally quiet and still, desolate horror bleeding into all of their eyes. _

_Dean swallowed, his fingers itching for a weapon of any kind- hell, he'd use his bare hands if need be- to tear the three demons apart with. He glanced down and saw the Colt revolver lying at Sam's feet where it had fallen from his brother's grip. He had never wanted Sammy's elusive abilities to kick in more in his life. _

_Meg followed Dean's gaze and spotted the antique gun lying innocuously on the ground. _Crap, _Dean swore silently. She turned towards the Winchesters and a second later the revolver was resting in her outstretched hand. "Didn't your Daddy ever tell you boys not leave guns lying around?" she chastised contemptuously before turning back to survey the family. "Oh dear, I think I broke them," Meg said wistfully with false regret. "Pity, I wanted to play some more but I think you Winchesters will be even more fun."_

_"Why don't you come over here and find out darlin'?" Dean drawled, drawing on the persona he used to pick up one-night stands in bars right across America. Anything to get the demonic bitch away from the family. Anything to get the demonic bitch away from Sam. "But I'm a private guy; don't want an audience, so why don't you let everyone else go outside and we'll have some playtime?" _

_Meg smiled, but there was a wicked, predatory gleam in her eyes, "How very gallant of you Dean-o but although this slumber party's been fun and all, there's someone who wants to meet you boys- especially Sammy."_

_Dean's escalating fear surged up a notch, threatening to overwhelm the diamond-hard control Dean had perfected from the age of four. He sensed that the night was about to plummet from bad to completely fucked up in approximately ten seconds. _

_And as another figure entered the nursery, Dean's prediction was proved true. Poisonous yellow eyes glinted in the darkness, before settling on the Winchesters, "Howdy boys."_

-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-

"_Howdy boys." A middle-aged man ambled into the nursery wearing a janitor's overalls and a sardonic smirk. His golden pupils pierced through the darkness and settled upon the Winchesters. "Well looks like you've finally found me; shame Daddy's not here, but that was the point after all." _

_Meg's usual imperious attitude appeared to have evaporated as she approached the demon. Her head was tilted down in submission as she held out the Colt revolver with an extravagant flourish. "Tweedledum and Tweedledee over there brought you a gift." _

_The demon possessed man examined the gun, "What a pain in the ass this thing has been," Azazel sighed. He turned to Sam, a theatrical look of shock twisting his features, "Were you going to shoot me with it Sammy? Oh the irony." He stowed the gun in a pocket on his overalls before turning back to Meg. "But I think this party is getting a little crowded, why don't you show our _local _guests out Daughter?" _

Daughter? _Dean inhaled sharply along with his brother as the night took yet another unnerving turn._

_A flicker of surprise crossed Meg's face before it was carefully masked. "Yes Father."_

_Dean felt gravity return for a split-second as Meg's control over his body broke before the yellow eyed demon took over Winchester-pinning duty. Meg jerked Monica up with one arm, beckoning to one of the two possessed men who had taken the family into the room, "Take the husband." Without another backward glance, Meg led Monica and the demon dragging Monica's husband out of the nursery._

"_She's your daughter!?" Dean exclaimed incredulously as he heard the faint slam of the front door. Surely the demons weren't simply letting the family go?_

"_You think you're the only one with a family Dean?" the demon replied. "Seems that way at times." _

"_Why did you let them go?" Sam interrupted, a rare note of true confusion entering his voice._

_Dean was wondering exactly the same thing._

"_Killing them would be fun and all," the demon responded casually, "but death is a release Sammy. Because now, that family will spend the rest of their lives living in fear; terrified that big bad scary demons will come back. And fear does terrible things to the human psyche: I give them a year before they're addicted to booze or drugs- or both. Ending their pitiful existence now would've been kind... kind's not part of my MO sadly, as you're about to find out." The possessed man approached the Winchesters, ignoring the twin looks of hatred directed his way. He stopped in front of Sam, and Dean's big brother instincts shrieked in protest as the demon placed a fatherly hand on his brother's cheek. "I've wanted to meet you again for a very long time Sammy- you could say that I've been watching over you like a dark guardian angel."_

_Sam somehow managed to catch Dean's gaze and Dean could see true fear beginning to bleed into Sam's eyes before it was quickly buried._

"_Leave him alone you yellow-eyed son-of-a-bitch," Dean shouted as Sam unsuccessfully tried to shift away from the demon's touch. _

_The possessed man's eyes darkened dangerously, but Dean's ploy succeeded as he became the focus of the demon's attention. "Didn't your daddy tell you it's rude to call demons names? Especially when they can do this-" _

_The possessed man's hand cut through the air in a slashing motion, and Dean cried out in pain as his arms were sliced open. Scarlet liquid seeped freely from the wounds, soaking into the torn fabric of Dean's shirt as the sharp bite of pain temporarily paralysed Dean's mind._

"_Leave him alone you sick bastard!" Sam yelled, breaking through the haze that clouded Dean's brain._

_The demon surveyed the damage he had caused with sadistic pleasure before turning to Sam. "Tut tut, such language Sammy. What would your Mommy say? Oops I forgot," he taunted, tone saccharine sweet but his yellow eyes glinted maliciously. "I go by many names, but your Daddy knows me as Azazel for future reference."_

_Dean's lips twisted in a parody of a smile but he didn't rise to the bait. _

_ "So what is this all about?" Sam questioned. "Why was Rosie chosen? Why was _I_ chosen?" Sam's voice cracked slightly, a lifetime of unanswered questions weighing heavily on his mind. _

_"I was wondering when you'd start asking the big questions Sammy." Azazel's golden eyes savoured the emotional turmoil churning within the youngest Winchester. "You're a story for another time I'm afraid, but don't worry, I have big plans for you kiddo. But little Rosie... she's a cute baby and all,__ but she isn't __special__ I'm afraid. However, she did have her own unique purpose. Demonic omens, six month old__ child...__ I knew your Daddy wouldn't be able to resist. And he's given you two boys to me practically gift-wrapped... Johnny should know by now that demons lie."_

"_Wow that's quite a double-cross; we'd give you a standing ovation... but you know, pinned to the wall and all that," Dean drawled insolently, trying to draw the demon's attention away from Sam at any cost to himself, even though his slashed arms were still bleeding freely._

_"Always with the wise-guy act Dean-o," Azazel began, "but it's just that, an act, to hide all that nasty angst you keep bottled up inside you isn't it? You think you're so tough but you're weak really, always needing Daddy and Sammy but they don't need you do they?" _

_Dean stiffened as that particular verbal dart hit the bull's-eye on twenty-three years' worth of suppressed emotional pain. He gritted his teeth, forcing it down before offering the demon a lazy grin. "You really are a can short of a six pack aren't you?" _

_He had a moment of satisfaction as the barb struck before a horrible, blood-curdling scream from Sam cut through Dean like a chainsaw. "Leave him alone you sick bastard- Sammy!"_

_"Dee..." Sam whimpered, his chestnut hair falling over his eyes like a mask as blood dripped ominously from his eyes and nose. Streams of crimson meandered down Sam's face as the demon grinned insidiously. The demon gestured again and Sam cried out in agony as whatever the hell the demon was doing to Sam happened again. _

"_Not so smug now are we Dean?" Azazel noted smugly, relishing the dual pain emanating from the Winchesters. "If slicing _you_ to pieces doesn't shut you up, then maybe giving your precious baby brother an aneurysm will."_

_Dean lowered his gaze, a silent submission despite the rage roaring in his chest. Each whimper escaping from Sam's clenched jaw was like a vicious uppercut as the jagged knife of Sam's pain and fear dug relentlessly into Dean's heart._

_Azazel moved away from the brothers and Dean strained against the demon's invisible hold as Sam seemed to sag against the wall despite his inability to move. Dean's big brother conscious demanded that he end Sam's suffering immediately but Dean was all out of ideas. And Azazel was just getting started._

"_Your entire life has been '_Look after Sam_', '_Watch out for your brother_'. When has your Dad ever thought about what you wanted, how you feel? No, it's all about precious Sam, even though he was the one that left. Isn't that right Sammy? You walked right out that door, despite everything that Dean had done for you. He gave up his childhood for you, and you threw that right back in his face."_

_Dean sucked in air through gritted teeth; Stanford was an open wound that would never truly heal. It had hurt like hell when Sam had left, but Dean hadn't spent the last year patching things up with his brother to lose him now. _

_"No..." Sam breathed. Blood was still oozing down his cheeks in scarlet streams and his face was becoming alarmingly pale. "It... wasn't... like... that."_

_"No? I think it was _exactly_ like that Sammy."_

_The demon was playing with them, just like a cat would play with a dying mouse before it succumbed to its injuries and Dean was wondered how long it would be until the demon put them out of their collective misery._

_As if the demon had been reading his mind- and much to Dean's unease that was a distinct possibility- Azazel's verbal onslaught ended. "This little chat's been entertaining and all, but I think it's time to wrap things up. Places to be and all that." The demon produced a rag and a small bottle from his overalls, before pouring a generous quantity of liquid over the rag. "Come here Sammy," Azazel beckoned as the demon clicked his fingers._

_Sam tumbled down the wall, landing in an unsightly sprawl of long limbs. He barely had time to blink from his new position on the floor before the demon was on him, physically pinning him to the ground. "Say nighty-night to your big brother Sammy," Azazel taunted before he pressed the chloroform soaked rag over Sam's mouth. _

"_Sammy!" Dean yelled as Sam choked, his blue-green eyes widening as the demon's brutal hold tightened. The young hunter's body jerked futilely as he tried to escape the demon's grasp but Dean could see that Sam's pupils were dilating as the drug took control of his body.__"SAM!" Dean thrashed against the demon's willpower as Sam struggled to overcome the effects of the chloroform. Sam's blood-smudged eyelids flickered open once more before they slipped close and didn't reopen. _

_"Stubborn to the last, just like Mommy," Azazel commented as Sam fell into drug-induced unconsciousness and the demon removed the soaked rag from Sam's mouth. The remaining possessed man stepped forward from the shadows, picking his brother up with as much care as he would pick up a refuse bag, and flinging Sam across his shoulder._

_"Don't talk about our Mom," Dean hissed, mostly out of reflex his fear for his brother turned his blood to ice-water. _Sam...

_The demon batted the remark away with one hand before nodding to his accomplice and then turning back to Dean. "You know, it's been nice and all Dean, but I really don't think this is going to work out. You just aren't my type," Azazel said coyly. "We're heading off to a private after party and I'm afraid you're not on the guest list Dean-o. Don't worry though; we'll make sure Sam's having a screaming time... literally."_

"_Leave my brother alone! Sammy!" Dean shouted, straining against the invisible force pinning him to the wall._

"_Sorry Dean, he's going to be out for quite a while yet. Besides, it's a bit late for that now- over thirty years too late in fact. Little Sammy is going to be our very own American Idol. He's going to do the most awful, horrible things and he's going to love every second of it. But you're not going to be around to cheer him on from the sidelines I'm afraid." Azazel jerked his head and Dean crashed to the floor, like his brother before him, in a tangle of still numb limbs. _

_The demon pinned Dean's body to the floor before he produced a coil of rope which he preceded to wind around Dean's arms, fastening his arms behind his back. _

"_I don't normally do bondage on the first date," Dean quipped incorrigibly, proud that his words held his usual sass and didn't hint at the suffocating fear growing within him. He tried to throw the possessed man off but his limbs remained uncooperative. _Have to get him off, have to get to Sam...

"_No wonder Daddy left you all alone if you're always this mouthy," the demon taunted pugnaciously. "Actually I wonder if he'll even care that you're dead when his precious baby boy has been taken by the Big Bad Wolf? You give up your life for his crusade and he just runs out on you in the middle of the night: life's a bitch isn't it kid?" The demon patted Dean on the head condescendingly before moving away to the other side of the nursery. _

"_This is kinky and all but it's not gonna hold me for long." Although Dean's game face was being held together by the thinnest threads of self-control, he was already anticipating his father's anger at his failure to protect Sam._

"_True," Azazel conceded. "But it'll hold long enough. Say bye-bye to your brother Dean-o."_

_And the demon clicked his fingers and suddenly fist of flame punched at Dean with an angry roar as Rosie's ignited. Dean blinked against the intense orange-gold light and then he was alone in the nursery. "No! Sam!" Smoke billowed as the fire surged towards Dean, soft pink teddy bears turning black as flames devoured them. Dean automatically turned away from the flames, belatedly realising that he could actually move again._

_Dean struggled against his bonds, shuffling away from the fire's deadly embrace before collapsing a couple of metres away from the door. Thick smoke settled upon him like a lead blanket and Dean felt his strength seeping out of his pores. His limbs felt like they had been weighed down and grey smoky hands were fastening around his throat. Dean crawled forward a few centimetres more before sagging to the ground once more, his eyes stinging from the smoke. _No... have to get out... have to save... _He forced his head up from the floor, flames dancing in his vision as the room swirled around him._ _His lungs were screaming for air and Dean felt unconsciousness beckoning with false promises of safety._

"_No... Sam... Dad." Dean slumped to the ground as the flames crept towards his vulnerable body. "Sammy," Dean breathed, his head falling towards the carpet as his eyes slipped close for what could be the final time._

-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-

He could hear voices but it felt like he was underwater, all of the sounds jumbled and merging together. His chest was unbearably tight and it felt like someone had shoved rubber bands down his throat. He shifted restlessly, wanting to sink back into the abyss of unconsciousness where pain was only a memory.

"Dean, wake up!"

Dean had been responding to that drill sergeant tone since he was four-years old so he immediately forced his eyes open.

"Umm... are you all right sir? Mr McGullicuddy?" a soft feminine voice enquired. Dean had a brief moment of confusion- _who the hell is Mr McGullicuddy?_- before reality came back to him with sickening clarity. And once his blurred vision cleared, Dean realised his bed was surrounded by people. His _hospital_ bed. _Shit._

"You were hyperventilating," his father's gruff voice offered, and Dean turned his head slightly, seeing that his father was sitting at his bedside. Dean glanced down and saw that John was gripping Dean's right hand tightly between two of his own. What the hell was going on? If Dean hated chick-flick moments then John was downright allergic to them.

And then Dean remembered.

_Sam. Oh God. Sammy... _Dean clenched his teeth as the memory of Sam screaming under the demon's torment flashed in his mind.

"Do you wish your father to leave? We overheard an argument before you passed out," Dean's doctor- Dr. Matthews, a balding, middle-aged man- questioned, casting a suspicious glance at John.

The dreaded oxygen mask had returned, and Dean raised his free hand to push it aside, "No!" Dean replied instantly. _Can't lose anyone else. _"I mean..." Dean hesitated, regretting his sharp answer, "I want him to stay."

"Fine, as long as he does not adversely impact on your recovery." The mere glance from the doctor had now become a full-blown glare but John just sat impassively, staring the doctor down. That stare tended to cause most people to fall silent instantly- as long as their name wasn't Sam Winchester- and a muscle in Dr Matthews' cheek twitched but he let the issue drop. "Now some officers will be along shortly to take a statement but I want you to rest until they arrive. And I do not want to see that mask removed from your face again until I remove it myself."

Dean knocked the oxygen mask back over his mouth, secretly relishing the cool hiss of oxygen as it eased the burning sensation in his chest. But his heartbeat was soaring- what the hell was he going to say to the cops? _So Officer, I went to save a family from the demon that killed my Mom- yeah that's right, a demon- but I ended up being left to die in a burning house. Oh and it's taken my brother, can you start a manhunt please? _His breathing faltered for a moment before Dean forced his fear and doubts down behind the emotional mask he had created as a child.

John squeezed Dean's hand briefly, but if the doctor had noticed Dean's harsh intake of breath he did not comment on it. "Now I'll be back on my rounds later on, and we can discuss your treatment further then. For now, rest and oxygen therapy is what you need Mr McGullicuddy." The doctor nodded stiffly to John before leaving the room, closely followed by the young nurse. It was a testament to how rattled Dean was that he did not even attempt to check out the rear-view; in fact he hadn't bothered to properly look at the nurse at all.

It was then that Dean realised that he was still holding hands with his father, and he wasn't sure who let go first, himself or John. Awkward silence remained for a few beats before John broke it, "I guess you remembered what happened at the house."

"Yes sir," Dean replied mechanically, his eyes settling on a random spot on his hospital blanket. He risked a quick glance at his father and found he was in an almost mirror position, eyes downcast and dull.

John looked up, catching Dean's gaze before he could look away. "We need to get out of here. Your doctor's already asking questions we can't answer and let's not get started on the cops. I've already picked up supplies, so the sooner we hit the road the better."

"To find Sam?"

John sighed heavily, looking every year of his age. "I called Bobby earlier while you were still unconscious, he's looking into it. We'll head to South Dakota and re-group."

Dean pushed the oxygen mask aside, "And we're how long from Bobby's exactly? Sam needs us now." Dean shot his father a venomous glare, before he broke off into a violent coughing fit. He noticed John flinch briefly before his father's anger ignited.

"Don't you think I know that?" John exclaimed, the last threads of his self-control fraying. "When I think about what they could be doing to him..." John trailed off, his gaze returning once again to the fascinating linoleum floor before meeting his son's glare dead-on. "Look, we have no idea where they've taken Sammy; the trail's cold and unless you have any more intel, we're looking at a three-thousand mile haystack." John turned away from Dean, moving with intent towards the various pieces of medical equipment surrounding Dean's bed.

Dean lowered his gaze, "No sir." He shoved the oxygen mask aside entirely, ignoring the protests from his damaged lungs before sitting up with a muffled gasp. An awkward silence reigned for a few beats before Dean sighed, "I didn't mean to pick a fight. I just want him back."

John switched one of the monitors off before turning back to Dean, and resting a heavy hand on his shoulder, John's own unspoken apology, before setting to work on one of Dean's IVs. "Yeah I know buddy. If I'd know what was going to happen..." John trailed off, not meeting his son's gaze. "I only wanted to protect you, _both_ of you." Dean didn't reply and let the conversation drop.

After detaching Dean from the numerous medical devices and dressing him in some clothes John had smuggled in, the Winchesters finished the final preparations for their premature exit from the hospital. John's gaze was fixed on the corridor, he was anxious to leave before the police officers arrived to question Dean, and Dean wasn't overly eager to make their acquaintance either. He ignored how much of a struggle pulling in a full breath of air seemed to have become as he finished buttoning up his shirt.

Dean had flinched when he noticed that the shirt his father had taken from the Impala's trunk was in fact Sam's. Jeans were impossible to share due to his not-so-little brother's never-ending legs; but they could share shirts easily enough when the need arose. In fact, Sam's shirt had probably been stuffed in Dean's duffle and John had simply assumed it was Dean's. As the thin blue fabric had settled across his skin, the scent of cheap washing powder and something uniquely Sam had hung in the air around Dean, stirring memories of a squirming baby and a laughing toddler.

Dean clenched his fists and tried to ignore the fact that his nails were making crescent-shaped indentations in his palms before another threat to his crumbling self-control came as John solemnly handed Dean his amulet. An eight-year-old Sam had given it to him as a Christmas present and Dean had barely taken it off since. As the cold metal settled against his chest, it was like a kick to his stomach. _Suck it up Winchester, crying like a sissy won't help Sammy._

"Ready?" John questioned, lifting the now almost-empty duffle bag onto one shoulder. Dean didn't have a chance to answer as he fell victim to another coughing fit, swaying slightly before the room stopped moving around him. Dean took a steadying breath before returning his gaze to his father. "Yes Sir."

John's intense stare settled on Dean, and Dean knew that he hadn't been successful in hiding his moment of weakness. But John did not comment on it, and he turned to head out of the hospital room, "Right Dean, move out."

Dean stepped out of the hospital room, only to narrowly avoid walking directly into his father's back only a few steps later as John came to a complete halt. He glanced around his father's frame to see what had caused John to stop, and cursed in several languages as a police officer came in to view. They both turned around and started walking away from the rapidly approaching officer.

Winchester luck came in one variety- bad; and this held true as Dean and John walked straight into the path of another officer exiting one of the lifts. Dean staggered back, his fingers twitching for a weapon as he pasted on his best innocent smile before the man's words and ebony pupils wiped it clean from his face.

"Going somewhere Winchesters?"

-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-

Sam had spent the last few hours?- days? _weeks_?- yelling until he thought his vocal chords would snap in protest. But nobody seemed to hear him, or if they did, they were perfectly happy to ignore him and Sam's isolation continued. He had been expecting the demons to appear and introduce him to their unique brand of hospitality as soon as he woke up, but in some ways just waiting for it all to begin was even worse. Sam had experienced the feeling many times as a teenager, sitting through a tense family dinner listening to the silent tick of his father's brain, waiting for the inevitable explosion.

The cold of the stone floor seemed to seep into his pores and it felt like he was gradually turning into ice in slow motion. The metal chains clinked together as Sam shivered relentlessly; the thin t-shirt and threadbare jeans he was wearing was doing little to keep him warm and goose bumps were forming on his exposed arms. Rivulets of crimson twined around his wrists and down his hands as metal bit into vulnerable skin. His stomach clenched every so often with hunger but the demonic "room service" hadn't shown up at all.

The soldered manacles meant that the usual array of Winchester-Houdini tricks were completely useless, and Sam had no idea what was travelling through the pipes he was attached to, so trying to rip the pipes of the wall wasn't exactly an option either. The chains may have allowed him to reach the wonderful sanitary facility, but he couldn't get within five feet of the stairs leading up to the basement door before he was pulled back. Out of ideas, Sam had taken to rattling his chains restlessly in a half-attempt to make more noise, but even he knew it was merely a distraction from his increasingly desolate thoughts.

Every time he allowed his mind to wander, his mind was filled with Dean's slashed arms and his brother's screams. The memories of what had happened in the house haunted each heartbeat, how could everything have gotten so fucked up? They'd been so certain that the trap was for John, they hadn't even paused to remember Pastor Jim's number one rule for hunting: demons lie.

His last memory was of passing out with Dean screaming his name but he was completely on his own now. Was Dean okay- was he even still _alive?_ _I'd know, _Sam whispered to himself, trying to cling onto that last hope. _I'd know if he was dead, I just would._ And Dad; Meg obviously hadn't turned up at the warehouse so where was his father now? Alive? Dead?

Sam closed his eyes, forcing the hysteria brewing inside him to subside. _Crying doesn't solve anything Sammy. _His thoughts took on the rhythm of his heartbeat- _Dean. Dad. Dean. Dad. Dean. Dean. _Dean.

A soft click penetrated Sam's daze and he automatically sat upright, his back perfectly straight. Green-blue eyes settled on the shadowed figure in the basement door before quickly sharpening to a venomous glare.

"Howdy Sammy," Azazel greeted genially as he stepped down the staircase. The dim light of the basement accentuated the demon's yellow eyes and as the demon approached Sam, he had the feeling of being stalked by a particularly vicious predator.

"Where's my brother?" Sam questioned hoarsely, his voice like sandpaper after his earlier vocal efforts.

The demon frowned in feigned concern, "Sounding a little rough there kiddo." Azazel knocked on one of the whitewashed walls, smiling patronisingly, "Soundproofed; can't have you disturbing the neighbours after all." The demon paused, letting the implications of that statement become clear to Sam. _Nobody will hear you. Nobody will find you._ "So do you like the décor Sammy? A bit of an upgrade from one of those forty-dollar-a-night motel rooms you call home. Or does it bring back memories of sweet little Jess? You were going to ask her to marry you weren't you?"

"Shut up," Sam snarled. "Where. Is. My. Brother?"

"Oh _Dean_," Azazel replied, his tone off-handed and completely insincere. "Sorry Sammy but big brother's dead, burned up just like one of those flame-grilled burgers he loves- oh sorry, _loved_- so much."

"I don't believe you," Sam denied vehemently. _No_. _I_f Dean was dead he'd know, he'd just _know._

"Suit yourself kid," the demon said dismissively, waving Sam's comment away with one hand before leaning in closer to the youngest Winchester. "But enough about Dean, I think it's time you and I had a little chat Samuel."

"Sorry, but I'm not really in a talkative mood," Sam replied insolently, turning his head away from the possessed man.

Azazel growled in displeasure and invisible fingers tightened around Sam's throat. "I'd lose that smart-mouth if I were you Sammy... didn't get Dean very far after all," Azazel replied venomously.

Sam flinched, the words like a powerful punch to his stomach. _No, don't let him get to you. Demons lie. Demons lie. _Sam swallowed, before raising head defiantly to meet the demon's gaze,"Don't call me Sammy," and then the metaphysical punch became all too real as the possessed man's fist drove straight into his abdomen. The room spun in a kaleidoscopic swirl around him as nausea threatened, but the pain was worth it. Sam could be just as mouthy as Dean when the mood took him- something John Winchester knew all too well.

The demon seized Sam by the collar of his shirt and gravity seemed to reverse as Sam slid up the wall, his chains hissing angrily."I think you're forgetting who calls the shots around here, _Sammy_," Azazel commented, his tone as soft as steel.Sam struggled to focus, the sensation of being trapped in an out of control merry-go-round remaining.

Sam's lungs were screaming for oxygen as his eyelids began to flutter but suddenly the demon smiled and Sam's body crashed to the floor. Sam slumped against the wall, breathing heavily but he continued to meet the demon's gaze. "Stubborn" should have been his middle name.

The demon backhanded him, "You're testing my patience, boy, but I like a challenge, makes it all the sweeter when they finally break." A sharp pain blossomed across his left cheekbone, competing with all the other aches for attention. Sam's gaze slipped to the concrete floor as he breathed in heavily. But despite his physical reaction, the demon was grinning, albeit in an unnerving psychotic manner. "I knew there was a reason why I put my money on you," Azazel murmured, a strange tone of _fondness?_ entering his voice. A hand settled on his right cheek, forcing Sam to look up and gaze into sulphurous eyes. "So you think you can beat me kiddo?" the demon drawled, the possessed man's eyes alight with manic anticipation. "Well _Sam_, let the battle commence."

-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-SPN-

**Author's Note: **I've written the YED as possessing that poor janitor because I loved Fred's performance in IMTOD and AHBL. The YED was just a shadow in "Salvation" itself so I've taken creative liberty. Reviews are love and hope to have Chapter 4 up soon- DMS x


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